


What Became of the Boy Who Ran With Wolves?

by emissarystilinski



Series: Teen Wolf Bingo [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Songfic, Therapy, teen wolf bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:46:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4728137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emissarystilinski/pseuds/emissarystilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he looked in the mirror he saw the same face he’d seen his whole life, just older and more tired, but he couldn’t quite recognize himself, couldn't piece together who he was and who was standing there then. Stiles was a ghost even to himself, empty of any familiarity.</p><p>“Me,” he said again, “I’m my ghost.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Became of the Boy Who Ran With Wolves?

_My Ghost_

_Where'd you go?_

_What happened to the soul that you used to be?_

 

It was 4 AM and the streets of Beacon Hills were drenched in a fall mist as Stiles drove through town. After that brief window of bliss that was junior year, he was back to not sleeping most nights. He spent the early morning hours driving around town or to a diner a few towns over.

 

He usually got back before sunrise so that Malia and his father didn’t know he’d left. They both knew he wasn’t sleeping, could see it written in the bags under his eyes and the way his hands shook more than usual. It was Friday and Malia slept at home the night before and his dad… well his dad was still in the hospital after the incident with Theo.

 

When he finally finished his drive it was almost eight. He was still in his clothes from the day before but didn’t feel like going home to change so instead he went right to the school. When he pulled into the lot he tried to ignore Scott’s bike propped there, tried to ignore the pang of pure hurt and shame that came to him.

 

Stiles could see the pack all sitting at a picnic table by the entrance. Malia was even with them even though he could see she was staring at the truck he was in. He was not in the mood for this.

 

Begrudgingly, he hopped out of the car and made his way up the steps two at a time. None of them said anything when he passed though he could feel their eyes on him. That’s just fucking fantastic; they can stare but talk to him? Out of the question. He seethed as he shoved the school doors open.

 

Half-way to his locker someone’s hand caught his arm. Panic rippled through him and he wrenched back before realizing it was Ms. Morrell.

 

“Stiles,” she greeted, smirking at scaring him, “Do you have a minute?”

 

Stiles really didn’t want to do this. It was not the time to have his head shrunk and he was sure Scott had told Deaton everything that was going on. He nodded anyway because he knew it was a command not a question.

 

He took a seat in the familiar chair in front of her desk. She was looking at him quizzically and it infuriated him.

 

“So what did you want?” he groaned, “cause I have homeroom in-“

 

“Oh I already told Coach that you wouldn’t be in homeroom this morning.” She looked cool as ever. Fuck, he was not getting out of this. “I’m concerned, Stiles.”

 

“Yeah, well join the club.” He muttered, tapping out a random rhythm on his knee.

 

She chuckled and he looked up suspiciously.

 

“You’re snark is still going strong I see?” she joked, trying to get him to play around like he usually did but he wasn’t in the mood to humor her.

 

“Okay but really, what do you want?” he asked finally, peeved at her cryptic tendencies.

 

“I’m aware of what’s been going on with the pack but you haven’t been at any meetings.” She stated matter-of-factly, dropping her little act. “They’re concerned about you-“

 

Stiles scoffed, “They’re what? They’re worried about me? Maybe they should say it to me themselves instead of treating me like a damn leper. How old are we? Jesus.”

 

He hated that he was opening up to her, she was too close to the pack for his comfort right now, but she’d always had a way with getting him to talk.

 

“They’re scared for you, scared of you.” She murmured, eyeing him quizzically.

 

“Maybe they should be.” He blurted, “Theo wasn’t entirely wrong when he said I had more blood on my hands than anyone. The nogitsune’s gone but I’m-“

 

Stiles stopped there. He hadn’t really let himself say any of this out loud yet, hadn’t had anyone to talk to. Usually he didn’t even like thinking about it, about himself.

 

“But you’re what, Stiles?” Morrell prompted, face open and encouraging.

 

He sighed, resigned to once again baring his soul to the emissary, “I’m still dangerous. I have… a lot of anger issues, I always have but ever since I got involved in all this shit its been difference. If I wanted to, I know I could go down a really dark path but I’ve always stopped myself, always listened to Scott instead.”

 

He ended in a whisper, eyes on the ground. He hated how pathetic he sounded. Maybe Scott had too much of an influence on him, he wondered idly.

 

“What do you mean you listened to Scott instead?” she questioned, curious.

 

“Scott walks a very… lighted pathway. Things are very cut and dry with him, black and white. I’m the same way with some things but other things… I fade into gray.” He was trying to put this as best as he could. “Ever since the sacrifice that year, I’ve been pretty solidly landed in gray and it seems like he’s gone the opposite direction.”

 

She eyed him sympathetically and it made him feel weaker than he already did.

 

“I know it’s hard for Scott to be like that, that he struggles with the standards he holds himself to,” Stiles played with his hands as he spoke to keep his emotions in check but his voice was wavering, “but it’s different to have him hold you to them, y’know? Anytime I’ve failed just that little bit, I feel like a failure, like I’ve disappointed him and it sucks.”

 

“I think you need to start holding yourself to your own standards, Stiles.” She offered, “Holding yourself to Scott’s standards isn’t fair because you and Scott are different people though you have things in common. You both want good to beat out evil at the end of the day, you have the same end goal but you can have different ways of getting there.”

 

He thought on that for a moment and couldn’t find fault with it. The way to do things had always tripped them up, but should it really be the thing to tear them apart?

 

“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” he murmured, unsure of why he was saying this, “Everytime Malia or my dad or Scott looks at me it’s like they’re seeing me for the first time but not. Like it’s the same body, same face but I’m not the same person anymore.”

 

“People grow up, people change.” She stated much to plainly for his liking and he looked at her sharper than he probably needed to.

 

“It’s not that. It’s… well it’s to be expected I guess when you’re human thrown into supernatural shit.” He contemplated aloud, mapping out his self implosion and rebuilding over the years, “I’ve adapted to my environment, I guess. I’m… harder, more callous even to my own eyes and I’m not… I don’t know I’m just… steely, I guess.”

 

Morrell was quiet then, he knew she was listening to him which was comforting but deliberate. She knew Stiles couldn’t help but fill silence.

 

“Malia called her father a ghost when we were in Eichen.” He told her, wringing his hands in his discomfort, “She was telling me how coming back after all that time, after he’d changed so much, it was like the person he used to be was gone from the body standing in front of her.”

 

They sat in silence then, Stiles trying to get a hold on his thoughts and the anxiety coursing through him and Morrell gazing at him, face unreadable.

 

“Stiles,” she started, “Malia has her ghosts, her parents. Who’s your ghost?”

 

He thought on that. Thought about his mother, thought about Scott, he even thought about Lydia. They’d all changed in his mind but there was still a common thread in them, still something he could place.

 

“Me.” He admitted quietly.

 

When he looked in the mirror he saw the same face he’d seen his whole life, just older and more tired, but he couldn’t quite recognize himself, couldn’t piece together who he was and who was standing there then. Stiles was a ghost even to himself, empty of any familiarity.

 

“Me,” he said again, “I’m my ghost.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Ghost by Halsey.
> 
> I almost made this a Stalia fic from Malia's perspective but I was more affected by Halsey's response to an interviewer. They'd asked her who her ghost was and she said herself and I immediately thought of Stiles and how much he's changed over the seasons, how he probably doesn't even recognize his own self anymore. It's really sad to think about but yeah there that is haha.


End file.
